Self Defense for Girls
by Some Call Me Tim
Summary: Ema just wants to be left alone. Daryan loves to get a rise out of people. When these two detectives finally clash one time too many, the Chief has had enough, and sentences them to a month in each other's company: teaching a self defense class in an all girl's school.


**Greetings, my fellow fan-fictionistas! It's been a while, but here I am for the summer! So the idea for this came from the gym class at my high school; for a week every semester, the girls get to take a self-defense course led by a few police officers from the district. My friends and I think it's awesome, and of course, whatever's awesome ends up translated directly into the Ace Attorney world. So, without further ado, enjoy! **

**-x-x-x-**

"Get _out _of my way, Daryan."

"I don't think I like that tone, princess. Why don't you ask me nicely?"

Ema Skye liked to think of herself as a considerably reasonable individual. Sure, she had a pretty nasty temper and was more often than not seen chomping angrily on Snackoos and snapping at recruits, but she didn't ask for a lot out of life. She only wished to get by from one day to the next without any major incident.

Unfortunately, a certain Detective Crescend was making it _very _difficult for her to keep her composure.

There she was, picking up a few reports from the lab—the day had just started and the Chief already had her racing files back and forth like some sort of carrier pigeon—when _he_ waltzed in, in all his leather-clad glory and that ridiculous pompadour hair of his dripping from the rain. She was leaving when he bumped into her, literally.

That was his first mistake.

She groaned inwardly as she bent down and began to sweep up her fallen papers. He leaned down to assist, but she brushed him aside and briskly stood.

"Sorry, little lady. Didn't see you there," Daryan drawled. Ema glared as he shook out his soaking hair, splattering her in fresh rain.

Strike two.

She didn't say a word—anything she could think to say would probably get her written up for disorderly conduct in the workplace, or even a harassment lawsuit—and shoved past him, moving to the door. Now, if there was one thing Detective Crescend couldn't stand, it was being blatantly ignored. Being prone to shooting his mouth off, he was used to getting verbally abused; that was something he could handle. Being treated like an inanimate object, however, was not. So he did something he should've known better than to do: he grabbed Ema's arm.

"Excuse me, Detective, but a superior officer just addressed you," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "My, how's the weather up there on your high horse?" she scoffed, and jerked her arm out of Daryan's grasp. He was faster though, and rushed to the door before she did, barring the exit with his tall frame.

"Come on, Miss Skye. What's your problem with me?" he jeered.

"Get _out _of my way, Daryan."

"I don't think I like that tone, princess. Why don't you ask me nicely?"

There was strike three, and Ema snapped. Before she could rethink, she reached up her hand and slapped the man across the face. His head reeled to the side, and then he stood motionless. The offending hand was now covering her own mouth in shock at what she'd just done. After several silent ages, Daryan finally turned to her and spoke.

"Bit of an overreaction there, don't you think, _Detective?_" he sneered. "Hate to see you written up for harassment."

That possibility terrified Ema; she was already in enough hot water with the Chief, what with her constantly running around and playing forensic scientist before the real team had even shown up at the crime scenes. But rage usually overtook any other emotion she had, so she spat back, "You're hardly one to talk, fop!" Not her most resounding of insults, but she was desperate to get out of that room. Ema shoved her way past him and bolted, stomping down the hall and crushing her files in one hand before Daryan could utter another word.

Daryan just stood there, furious. He would be the first to admit that he horsed around frequently—incessantly, even—but he definitely took his job as a detective seriously. He proved it daily, too. How? He got results; Ema stood around doing nothing, chasing a broken dream and wasting the district's time. He was worth ten Detective Skyes, without a doubt. How dare she treat him like a useless pretty boy? Suddenly, he knew he couldn't just let it go. Daryan marched out the front doors and rushed to a payphone, disregarding the downpour and whatever he had just forgotten at the lab.

He stood there, listening to the dull dial tone as patience wore thin. No, this would not be the end of it, he assured himself. Not this time. He would have the last word, and it would be at dear Ema's expense. Finally there was a click on the other end, and he smiled like an evil child who felt he had been wronged.

A tired, terse voice finally answered: "Chief Detective Nelson speaking."


End file.
